Cigarette Runs And Traffic Lights Poem by Erin Cowart

It is night
2 am
I am driving to the store for cigarettes
A short trip

Or it would be
Except the light turns red
The minute I reach it
I slow my car to a crawl

Hoping that I can inch my way forward
That if I just take my time
It will turn green and signal
My departure

It doesn't turn green
And so I sit
At a red light
With not another car in sight

I sit tight
Just like I was trained to do
A good citizen
A willing slave

Even when it is clear I could move
Even when not a soul would be harmed
By pushing on the gas
And blowing the light

I sit in the dark
At the light
A quiet symbol of control
And wonder what it means to be free

And this is quite possibly
The greatest argument
For not buying cigarettes
At 2 am

If more people sat
In the dark
At lights at 2am
Then the makers of lights and rules
Might tremble